Page 4 of Ashen Wings

As Finnick plucks each individual leaf and berry from its respective jar, a thought forms in my mind.

It’s irrational and illogical and will most certainly get me killed, but this could also be my chance.

“I can retrieve the stones,” I state. Finnick’s working hands pause and he lowers his pestle.

“Did you take a blow to the head?” His eyes narrow.

“Finnick, I’m the best tracker you’ve got, and if this client is aggressive enough to send me to General Melark himself…think of the price. The stacked travel and endangerment fees. We’d both be sleeping on golden beds if I can pull this off,” I say, pressing the idea in the only way Finnick might agree.

He shakes his head. “Even I can’t get you across the border to Shadow. You think the other factions are locked down after the war? Shadow’s not like Storm or Sea. They don’t even allow us access to emissary routes. Besides, it’s a death sentence if I send you out there. King Ashborne doesn’t take kindly to those without a crossing sanction. Then I’d be down my best mercenary and the client’d be out hundreds of thousands of stipen.”

Desperation tastes a little sweet though, as my mind formulates a plan that’s guaranteed to end with my freedom. This job requires the highest level of discretion, organization, and calculation. That’s what makes it perfect. I could buy out my contract with a little left to find my place in this world, to leave Smoke and never look back.

Maybe I’d buy a cottage in Sea and watch the sunrise on the open blue horizon each morning, or maybe a townhome in Storm. The opportunities suddenly feel endlessly in reach.

“But this courier crossed the border on the books. You have a contact in the trade authority, don’t you? Press him on the courier. Let me do this.”

Finnick huffs a breath but doesn’t disagree. The little glint of fire in his aged eyes tells me he’s formulating a plan. My lungs refuse to exhale when my future hangs in the humid herbal air between us.

“Fine. I’ll pitch it to the client, but Nova, there will be contingencies. You won’t simply disappear into Shadow. You won’t turn your back on our contract. I need assurance just as you need stipen,” he says.

I nod in agreement. Even if his words still maintain my captivity, I’m one step closer to the freedom I’ve so desperately clung to for the last twenty years.

“Okay,” I agree.

He smirks and shuffles to his desk, fetching a small key from the fold of his robes. The drawer clicks and slides open with a groan and Finnick places a velvet tied pouch on his desk.

Dragonstones.

“If the client agrees, I’ll set up a meeting with my trade authority contact. Do not fuck me on this, Nova. I know I haven’t been the kindest to you over these years, but I’ve kept you safe. Kept you fed and bathed.” He watches my every move, eyes fierce in the hazy light.

More like kept me prisoner. Forced me to wield a blade. Molded me into a monster…a killer. I shove the thoughts down. Finnick’s trial before Morvayne will come, and it’ll be by his own hand that he meets fate.

“The client will agree” I can handle whatever assurances he throws at me—I’ve managed this far. The plan is barely in motion and my head has already soared to the cosmos. If I do this, complete this, that payout will change everything.

“We’ll see. Now, go bathe. You stink of blood and entrails.” He flicks his wrist toward the back rooms. The grin curls on my lips before I can suppress it, and I have the urge to throw my arms around the old man. Gods, I really want to hug him? I must have a head injury or I’ve gone mad. The latter is more likely.

Regardless, I don’t care, because for the first time in my life, I look forward to tomorrow’s sunrise.

3

It took nearly an hour to scrub the blood from my skin. Now, seated at the tavern just down the street from Finnick’s, my fingers drum impatiently on the table, desperate and waiting for a meal that surely won’t fill my belly. The haze of drunken chatter simmers—bellowing laughter and boisterous voices—but none directed toward me.

I’m used to the silent dinners and skeptical glances often thrown my way here. When you’ve spilled the blood of nearly every patron’s companion, the distance is to be expected. I sigh and lean into my palm now heavy on the tabletop. A warm flicker of candlelight lingers beside me, rippling with the smoky draft looming in from the late evening air.

“Enjoy.” A ceramic bowl slams down before me, its watery brown contents sloshing haphazardly over the top. I glance at the barmaid with a content smile. Her cold green eyes don’t return the sentiment.

“Didn’t poison it this time, Val?” I spoon the lukewarm broth and let it trickle back to its bowl.

“Don’t test your luck, girl,” she grunts before turning on her heels. Her frigid demeanor isn’t surprising when her nephew—a pickpocket from the mercantile district—was unfortunate enough to pull a blade on me last week. Now his bones rest, crisp and ashen, with the rest of the lowborn corpses heaped together at Scorath’s pillar.

A grimace slips from me with another spoonful of broth, but I swallow it anyway. It’s a meal, and for now, that’s all I need. In a few weeks’ time, I’ll leave this place for good. Even amidst the criminals and crooks drowning themselves in ale, I can feel it—a full belly and peaceful life. Tomorrow could change everything. It has to, because I’m not sure how much of Val’s dishwater stew I can take anymore.

“Did you hear about what happened this morning during flight ops?” Just to my right, a greasy skeleton of a man snickers to the red-faced woman beside him. My ears perk, but I keep my gaze locked on my meal.

“No, I’ve been working the market all day. Was there another attack, Gale?” the woman asks, taking a sip from her pint.

Gale’s watery eyes dart to me before he shifts closer to her.